


El-Oh-Vee-Upsilamba

by inalasahl



Category: Angel: the Series, Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Canon Death, Crack, M/M, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-15
Updated: 2006-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inalasahl/pseuds/inalasahl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsey McDonald finds himself back from the dead and on a road trip with Orlando Bloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	El-Oh-Vee-Upsilamba

**Author's Note:**

  * For [77sparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/77sparks/gifts).



> Thanks be to llaras for the beta.

> Those around him understood each other at the first word, since they had no words that would end in an unexpected way, perhaps in some archaic letter, an upsilamba, becoming a bird or a catapult with wondrous consequences. (Vladimir Nabokov, Invitation to a Beheading)

_The hourglass gleamed crystal in the shattered sunlight flashing from every particle of sand. A mortal would have been blinded, but Death had no such concerns. The detailed faceting of the body was wasted in a frame of rough, unsanded wood of an inferior grain. "His disposition is in doubt?"_

_"There are ... multiple claims."_

_There was no sand left in the top half. "You are late in making this request."_

_"As I said, no agreement has yet been reached. Therefore, he is still yours."_

_"A technicality only." The hourglass swung on a silver chain gone dull and dark from repeated handling. "Any favor I owed him has already been more than repaid."_

_"Let him think what he will; the debt will be mine."_

_"I cannot force him to this."_

_All the clocks in all the worlds in all the dimensions stopped. "You may have all the time you need to convince him."_

_A pause. "He is worth that much to you?"_

_"They all are."_

The games had gone on just short of forever. "Checkmate," Death said as she slid her bishop across the board. "That was the worst," she grumbled. "Three of my pawns got made into queens."

Lindsey McDonald always played to lose. He stretched, then lit a cigarette as Death began putting the pieces back on the board. From a cloudless cerulean sky, sunlight glinted white on the dunes that rolled out in every direction from their table. Lindsey's eyes ached from the endless strain. "How many times are we going to do this?" he asked.

"As many as it takes for you to win."

Lindsey won after he ran out of cigarettes. Even life had to be better than endless games of chess without the benefit of nicotine.

Revivification carried a price. One year of contractual scale-balancing seemed a decent enough exchange, though he had no blood with which to search for hidden clauses. Lindsey signed his name with a flourish, then put down the quill so Death could shake his hand. "Congratulations," she said. "Welcome back to life." The plane ticket she handed him appeared ordinary enough. "Your partner will meet you in Cincinnati with a car."

"Partner?" No. He'd tried that. Never again. Lindsey was a lone wolf, a man apart, a  Death was fading away. "Wait," Lindsey shouted, but still the sound of galloping rose and Death disappeared utterly. Lindsey looked down at his ticket, then gasped as fire strafed him, the pain of renewed mortality the first touch he'd felt in nearly an eternity.

* * *

That first day the car was a limousine. Lindsey walked out of the airport, shielding his eyes from the sun and did a double-take. He blinked, only nothing changed. He still saw a limousine, a sign reading "Lindsey McDonald" and Orlando Bloom in a chauffeur's uniform.

It was definitely Orlando Bloom, the actor, standing there in black pants, a three-quarter jacket with white buttons and a black cap tilted rakishly on his head. Lindsey noticed quite a few people staring and pointing, giggling behind their hands at the "look-alike." He, however, had seen much more implausible things in his life. "I'm Lindsey McDonald," he introduced himself.

Orlando let go of one side of the sign and stuck out his hand. "Orlando," he said. "Orlando Bloom." He paused expectantly, but Lindsey just gestured at his suitcase.

"You want to pop the trunk?" Lindsey had learned long ago never to ask questions unless he wanted answers, and right now all he wanted was a shower. Orlando lowered his hand, bafflement creasing his brow.

As Lindsey silently put his suitcase in the car and climbed into the back seat, he noticed Orlando stealing glances at him with disappointment etched on his face. It was a look he was familiar with. _Lindsey, you should call your mama more. I'm sorry, I nodded off; did we get to the part where you're evil? You betrayed this firm by allying yourself with someone who has given us a great deal of grief. You're not part of the solution, Lindsey._ Presumptuous jackass. Orlando himself had obviously pissed off someone to end up on this outing; he clearly had no standing for judgment. They were here to do a job, not be comrades-in-arms. Lindsey maintained his silence, longing for a watch to time how long it would take for Orlando to blink first. Somewhere along the way between poor kid, evil lawyer, singing cowboy and man with a plan, he'd stopped wearing one. Time had never been on his side.

They were only just pulling away from the airport when Orlando tried again to start a friendly conversation, glancing back at Lindsey in the rear view mirror. "I heard you were dead. That must have been quite an adventure."

"Mmm," Lindsey non-committed, staring out the window with just a tiny smirk. He snuck a peek at Orlando out of the corner of his eye. The poor guy was already tapping long, thin fingers on the steering wheel and taking deep breaths. The friendly ones always hated being ignored the most. "Er," Orlando began, blithely not giving up. "We have keys, car, cubby hole." He fumbled in the glove box and tossed a few things into the back seat at Lindsey. Lindsey picked through it: maps of Ohio, $200 in cash 

"Stipend: gas, motel, food," Orlando answered his unspoken question. "As they think we need it."

"Don't you have your own money?"

"Rules," Orlando said. "We can only use whatever they leave in the cubby hole." Of course. Lindsey had learned everything he knew about being a bastard from The Powers That Be, after all. He wondered how long they expected the $200 to last.

 and the list: fifteen neatly typed pages of names, addresses, dates and times. His curses got steadily more colorful as he studied the inefficient sequence. His eyes caught Orlando's in the rear-view mirror. "This order will take us all year."

He watched as narrow shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I'm only in it for the sex, really," he thought he heard Orlando say. Jet lag, Lindsey surmised. Had to be jet lag. He wondered what the time difference was between death and Cincinnati. Faking a yawn, he lay back against the seat and closed his eyes. "Wake me when we get to the hotel," he muttered.

* * *

Lindsey awoke to bright sunshine and a happily babbling Orlando Bloom. Somehow sharing a room to save money had sounded so much more reasonable the night before. "Americans drink coffee, right? I didn't know what you'd want so I got you a mocha, a latte, and something called a soy chai."

"That's tea," Lindsey said, throwing an arm over his face. It couldn't be morning already.

"You want the mocha?"

"Espresso," Lindsey spat as he reluctantly sat up. "Is for clients and _actors._ I drink coffee. Plain, black, coffee."

"Ah," Orlando said, playing with a swizzle stick. "Latte."

Lindsey rolled his eyes and reached for the drink. "Aren't you people supposed to be night owls?"

Orlando smiled, waving the list. "Mai Kravasathong, Pittsburgh, 2 p.m."

Lindsey looked at the clock. "It's nine."

"It's Cincinnati," Orlando said. "I would have been back earlier, but I had trouble finding the car."

"You had trouble finding a limo?"

"It's now an MG BGT." Orlando looked a little freaked. "Do you think it'll always, er, change like that?"

"If it bothers you? Yeah, it'll happen a lot." Lindsey got out of bed and scratched his stomach. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked, eyeing Orlando's Hugo Boss.

"You don't like it?"

"It's great," Lindsey snorted. "Very sassy." He spun his suitcase before unzipping it so Orlando couldn't see his own Hugo Boss neatly lying on top and pulled out a t-shirt. _He_ wasn't trying to impress anyone. He snapped on jeans and looked at Orlando. "What's an MG BGT?"

He found out an hour later when they left. "This looks like a clown car."

"It's got a long bonnet."

"We're not sitting in the hood."

"It's sexy," Orlando said as he pulled out the keys.

Lindsey snatched them away. "I'm driving."

"I'll put the chauffeur uniform back on," Orlando wheedled. Lindsey pretended not to notice Orlando winking at him as Lindsey hesitated for a fraction of a second before getting into the driver's seat.

Four hours stuck in a tiny car with Orlando Bloom was not going to improve his mood.

* * *

The third day, Orlando put on jeans and a t-shirt and Lindsey donned his suit. "I like this opposite thing we've got going on," Orlando said, smirking at Lindsey's ensemble. "If I wear a tux tomorrow, will you put on a prom dress?" His tone was light, teasing, no sharp edges or hidden meanings.

Lindsey didn't reply.

The rain coursed down the windshield as they drove toward Keene, New Hampshire. The MG BGT's wipers made a valiant effort, but they were old and tended to stick. Lindsey squinted at the road, cursing whomever was responsible for giving him a car without brights. Orlando seemed to be leaning into him, wreaking havoc with Lindsey's ability to concentrate. "Stay in your seat," he barked.

"I'm trying," he snapped, clutching at the door handle to pull himself up.

Lindsey squinted, straightening his body, noticing its alignment with the car. The car really was leaning. "Shit." He flipped on his blinker, though there was no one else on the road, and headed for the side. "Check the glove box."

Orlando opened the glove box, frowning in consternation. "There's a torch in here now." He reached in and pulled out a flashlight.

"Fuck." Lindsey put the car in park. "Let's see how bad it is." He took the flashlight from Orlando before stepping out of the car, feet sinking to the ankles in the viscous mud of the shoulder.

Orlando got out on his side. Lindsey watched him push sopping strands of chocolate brown hair from his face. Turning his attention from Orlando's wet face, Lindsey knelt to examine the car with the flashlight. He stood back up, frowning at Orlando through the drizzly dark. "Looks like we've got two flats starting," he shouted to be heard over the rain. "What are the chances " he stood up to find Orlando next to him, quite close "that we've got two spares?" he finished softly. Lindsey handed him the keys. "Check the trunk, will you? And look for a jack!"

Lindsey watched as Orlando took the spare out of the trunk, shut the lid and reopened it to take out another one. He's getting used to this, Lindsey thought, rubbing the back of his neck. "Keep an eye out," he ordered. "Tires don't just go flat, Bloom," he replied to Orlando's puzzled expression. He ignored the impulse to reassure the other man as he tensed.

He watched Orlando square his shoulders. "Is this a jack?"

"That's a tire iron," Lindsey looked at Orlando suspiciously. "You're not planning on playing stupid so that I have to change these by myself are you?"

"I'll hold your torch." Orlando's expression was pleading and puppy dogish, the traces of fear melting away that easily. Lindsey couldn't help but smile back.

"Yeah, you'd love to get your hands on my flashlight." Orlando lifted his eyebrows in exaggerated wide-eyed astonishment. "I do have a sense of humor," Lindsey said.

"Are you also double-jointed by any chance?"

"Oh, shut up." Lindsey glared. "You really don't know how to change a tire?" He swapped Orlando the flashlight for the jack and took his jacket off, laying it on the road. Kneeling on it, he patted the space next to him, his hand fwapping wetly against the asphalt. "Come on over here and learn something."

"My car breaks down? I can buy another one."

"Hah," Lindsey said. "That assumes that people will actually continue to want to watch you prancing about on screen."

"How did you know I prance? Have you secretly been watching my movies?"

"Yes, I just bought the gold edition DVD-set of the Orlando Bloom collection." Orlando knelt down, coughing discreetly as he trained the flashlight toward the car. "Tell me I just made that up," Lindsey begged.

"You're having a lot of fun," Orlando said instead.

"Changing a tire in the rain? In the dark?"

"You're smiling and talking, and acting almost human. Fun."

The light bobbed in Orlando's hands. Lindsey tensed, but he didn't stop smiling. "What?"

Orlando hesitated, but impulse won out. "Why aren't you dead?"

Lindsey blinked. "That's the question?"

"Yeah, why?"

Lindsey glared and got the discussion back on track as he jacked up the car. "I did some pro bono work for Death; she owed me a favor."

"For Death? _Death_ Death?"

"Yeah, like, death." Lindsey rolled his eyes and leaned forward, unbolting the tire.

"Death is a she? Death is a _charity case?_"

"It's a title, not a name. And no, Death is not a charity case. Let's just say that Death is definitely pro bono publico." Lindsey kept his gaze carefully on his work. "You know a lot about me."

"I read your files."

Whose files? Lindsey thought he should be bothered by the fact that conceivably there were several groups with files on him. "And that wasn't in there?"

"It kind of ended with your death. So why the road trip?"

"I don't know. Something about aligning the cosmic balance. I was a bad boy last time I was alive, yadda, yadda, yadda got to make up for it or I'll turn into a pillar of salt, I don't know." He lurched up to lug one of the spares over. File reading explained jack all about why Orlando was here. "What about you?"

"Er, I " Orlando shifted restlessly, rolling the flashlight in his hands. "I found an old lamp."

"Yes?"

"It was shiny."

Lindsey guffawed. "You didn't!"

"I thought  how was I supposed to know  " Orlando slumped. "I did," he admitted quietly.

"You freed a pissed off demon who'd probably been trapped in a lamp for thousands of years, and then asked him for three wishes?" Lindsey snickered. "Road trip with a formerly dead lawyer has got to be one of the easier curses you could have gotten." He slapped Orlando on the shoulder.

Orlando opened his mouth wide and laughed, nearly choking on the rain careening down his face. Lindsey laughed also, a real one, not a snicker, and clutched the tire harder to keep from reaching out to stroke Orlando's face. "You're soaked," he said softly.

"So are you."

"After we get back on the road, let's find a place to stop for a bit and dry off."

"Why, Mr. McDonald," Orlando said, fluttering his eyelashes. "Are you propositioning me?"

"I meant a 24-hour diner, jackass." But he laughed, and Orlando winked back, and it was fine.

* * *

Six weeks, thirty names, several cities and one soon-to-be-dead actor (if Lindsey had anything to say about it) later they rolled into Carlyle, Saskatchewan. Six weeks of Lindsey trying to be professional, trying not to screw things up and six weeks of Orlando flirting with everything that moved. Six weeks, and now Lindsey sat in a diner trying to enjoy his pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate chips while Orlando drew hearts on paper placemats. Hearts with names in them. "Johnny Depp," Lindsey ground out. "Is living with a woman."

"True." Orlando carefully added "&amp; Vanessa" before the plus sign in the heart reading Johnny + Orlando. Lindsey stabbed his flapjacks and held his fork out to Orlando, who shook his head, yawning. "What if she wants us to take her to dinner?"

"They never want dinner," Lindsey said. It was true, too. The women (and occasional man) on the list got to choose the activity, within reason. It was ridiculous how many times now Lindsey had had to explain that orgies were not within reason. More often than not, the three of them went to see Kingdom of Heaven. Because, apparently, the whole return to life thing had been a trick, and Lindsey was really in hell. He wondered if he could get a transfer back to the place where he just got his major organs ripped out once a day. That place had been nice.

"I hope she doesn't want popcorn at the movie," Orlando announced. "It's always so hard to crawl into someone's lap when they're holding onto a tub of popcorn."

"Forget it," Lindsey said. "I don't care how 'scared' you get this time. You filmed the movie, for crying out loud. You couldn't possibly be upset at the fight scenes."

Orlando winked. "Come on," he pleaded. The thing that bothered Lindsey most was Orlando's complete unflappability. No matter what Lindsey said, Orlando just smiled or winked, and on one humiliating occasion, pinched. Six weeks, and he hadn't yet tried to kill Lindsey. That had to be some kind of record, and Lindsey was damn tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Maybe thinking about it put Lindsey into a bad mood, because by the time he and Orlando strode into the office building listed as the address for their next appointment they were already arguing.

"You did not make that much money for 'Troy.' I saw your contract."

"How would you know what my contract said?"

"I wrote all the contracts for 'Troy.' The whole movie was my idea!"

Orlando whistled as best he could around the pointy incisors in his mouth, and eyed Lindsey with a little more caution. "You lawyers really are evil." He had no idea, Lindsey thought. In truth, he must have some. Somehow Orlando had also ended up on this trip of strange lists and morphing cars, but Lindsey felt pettish anyway. There was only a year or so difference in their ages, but Lindsey felt much, much older than Orlando, who felt perfectly comfortable poking his head into random rooms with a smile, checking nameplates. "There she is!"

"Give me those," Lindsey snapped, yanking the fake teeth out of Orlando's mouth. "Let's be professional about this." He wore the suit every day now, something he didn't want to think about. Lindsey McDonald had once prided himself on always having a bon mot, a working pen and the correct wine for the dish served, even when it was fried green eyeballs. Lindsey McDonald had once thought he'd given up such things.

"I just thought a disguise would be more the thing for a rendezvous. What do you care anyway?"

"I have a thing about vampires," Lindsey said.

Orlando looked down at Lindsey's crotch. "I can see that." Lindsey automatically followed his gaze. "Made you look," Orlando teased.

Lindsey sniffed. "At least I have some kind of criteria, some standard. You, on the other hand"

"Am willingly sleeping my way through the entire population of the world?" Orlando smiled fondly, obviously remembering something in the past.

"You're not supposed to be happy about it!" Lindsey shouted. "You're supposed to be miserable and searching for true love."

"Is that how you do it then? Much luck with that?"

Lindsey mumbled something incoherent.

"What was that?" Orlando asked, holding his hand over his ear. "Care to repeat that a bit louder? Just start from the part where you were killed by a flunky."

Lindsey stumbled, recovering by pulling out the lawyer he used to be. "Ms. Martell?"

Unfortunately, she was looking at Orlando. "I got the telegram that said you were coming, but I thought it was a joke," she squealed. "I can't believe Orlando Bloom came to take me home from work. I've been so bored all day. Is this your assistant?"

Lindsey gritted his teeth. "Lindsey McDonald, J.D.," he said smoothly, holding out his hand for a handshake to avoid strangling her with it. He turned back to Orlando.

Orlando moved around him, groping Lindsey out of the way in order to help the young woman up from her seat. He turned his head to smile invitingly over his shoulder at the glaring Lindsey. "Need to be taught a lesson, do I?"

The man was clearly a sex-crazed maniac.

* * *

The one time Lindsey let Orlando drive he got two speeding tickets within 150 miles. Lindsey refused to give him another chance. Unfortunately, that gave Orlando free hands.

Orlando fiddled with the radio buttons, finding nothing but static and Tobey Keith. Giving up in disgust, he lay back against the passenger seat looking a little green. "Are we there yet?"

Lindsey smirked. "What are you? Five?"

"I'm bored," he moaned. He turned his head to waggle his eyebrows at Lindsey. "Maybe you need to entertain me. Remind me that I'm all grown up?" He unbuckled his seatbelt and slithered across the seat, draping himself around Lindsey.

With a horrific screech, the car skidded across two lanes, coming to rest in the breakdown lane. Lindsey put the car in park. Breathing hard, he pried Orlando away from him.

The other man looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything.

"Don't. Do. That. Again."

Orlando moved back, putting his seatbelt on. "Would it be so bad?" he said quietly, staring out the window.

"I'm not gay."

Orlando snorted. "Have you ever even slept with a woman?" Lindsey opened his mouth to assent, but Orlando cut him off. "Besides blonde chippies too dumb to know when they're being used?"

Lindsey shut his mouth.

"Just drive, I'd like to get out of this car sometime this week."

"I don't use people," Lindsey said. Orlando snorted. "Anymore. I don't." Silence. "And liking dumb blondes wouldn't be a reason not to sleep with you." He stole a glance at the passenger side. Orlando's arms were crossed; his lips were pursed. Damn him. "I didn't mean that," he said, reaching across the car to pat awkwardly at the other man.

"So not just vampires then? Good to know."

"What?"

"It's the brooding that turns you on," Orlando said, grinning pointedly at Lindsey's hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, for crying out"

Orlando reached into the glove box and pulled out a pair of Ray-Bans. "Sometime this week, Linds."

Lindsey put the car in drive, flipped on the signal and pulled out without looking, ignoring the disgruntled honking behind him. "Don't call me Linds."

"Don't call me blond."

* * *

That's the closest they ever come to truly fighting. Most of the time, Orlando just wouldn't, no matter how Lindsey tried to provoke him. Maybe that was some kind of hint, because the only other person who ever truly seemed to want to be around Lindsey wasn't really a person. Eve was a made thing who gave up her immortality for Lindsey and then went and died, he moped as they walked into their motel room. "Elizabethtown better open soon," Lindsey groaned: Kingdom of Heaven viewing number 27. He pulled off his tie and jacket and flopped down on a bed.

Lindsey's fingers slowed in their work of undoing his cuffs, his attention arrested by the way Orlando stared at him.

"I want you," Orlando said hoarsely.

"You want everybody," Lindsey replied lightly, but Orlando wasn't joking.

"I want you," he said again and two heartbeats later he settled on the bed, pulling Lindsey in for a kiss.

Lindsey's stomach flipped. He was too tired for this shit.

Orlando was good at it, too, playing with Lindsey's shirt, undoing one tiny button at a time, kissing each and every exposed inch of skin, licking it and tasting it. Lindsey's shirt disappeared, but that was okay because Orlando touched him, long warm fingers sweeping over him. Lindsey closed his eyes and went with it, letting it happen. He was too tired to fight against something he wanted. It was never about Orlando being a guy.

The fingers stopped. Lindsey opened his eyes to find Orlando frowning at him, worried and awkward. It wasn't an Orlando look at all. "Tell me you want this."

Lindsey swallowed hard. He couldn't say that; he couldn't. So he did the best he could, lifting his hands, cradling one around Orlando's neck, the other in his hair. "Don't stop," he said. Something in Orlando's eyes sparked, dilating just a bit, and he leaned forward for another kiss. This time Lindsey participated a bit more, touching back, stealing more of that warmth for himself. "Don't stop," he said again.

When Orlando moved down Lindsey's body to undo his pants, Lindsey couldn't take his eyes away. The expression on Orlando's face still hadn't returned to it's normal slightly mocking amusement. He looked rather reverential, in fact, and Lindsey just couldn't figure that out. "Lindsey, you're, you're " he stuttered.

It sounded nice, so Lindsey played along. He stretched, curving one arm to show off a bicep, just to see if he could make Orlando's eyes dilate further. "Yeah, I'm hot," he said, because there's had to be some reason why Orlando was rolling a condom onto Lindsey's dick and making all these pleased little humming noises.

Orlando's mouth on him was warm and firm; his eyes locked with Lindsey's as he shuddered and came.

Orlando stood on shaky legs, scrabbling at his pants. He was still dressed, Lindsey thought, and it was suddenly very important to him to make this whole thing equal as Orlando flopped down on the other bed, his hands reflexively clutching at the throw. Fuck buddies was a concept Lindsey understood. Someone using him for his or her own pleasure? Also, understood. But someone given him the best blowjob of his life and then walking away? Lindsey didn't understand that. It wasn't okay. He scrambled up to grab at Orlando. "I, er, don't have any more condoms."

That's terrible planning, Lindsey thought. "Touch yourself," he said. Orlando gulped, and unbuttoned his pants, pushing them and his boxers down. He took himself in hand, and gasped when Lindsey covered his hand with his own. "Don't stop," Lindsey said again.

The next morning, Lindsey pushed himself up out of bed and groped for a cigarette. "We're late," Orlando said, coming out of the bathroom. Lindsey nodded, flicking his lighter. Orlando hesitated in the act of removing his towel. "This isn't a smoking room." He took the towel off and picked his boxers up off the floor. "Are you freaking out?"

"Are you planning to kill me?"

"Er, no?"

"Are you planning to kill someone else?"

"Again, no."

"You are officially the least remarkable person I have ever had sex with."

* * *

Orlando didn't play by the rules. Fuck buddies weren't supposed to touch your hair all the time or kiss you in the middle of the day. They weren't supposed to look at you with puppy dog eyes and laugh at all your jokes. They didn't sneak out at six a.m. so they could wake you with a hot breakfast or remember what your favorite section of the newspaper is. They were definitely not supposed to cuddle up next to you while you read it.

This morning they'd woken up to find they now had a wheelchair van with flowers painted on it. Lindsey didn't miss the tight confines of the last car, but he did miss the bucket seats. A bench seat was just asking for trouble from Orlando, and he thought as he braced for a fight.

Elizabeth DeVries was a septuagenarian. They didn't get many of those, and Lindsey found himself smiling and being truly polite, not the polished veneer of confident obsequiousness he had developed to deal with clients at Wolfram &amp; Hart, who might eat you if you said the wrong thing or a meeting got boring and went too long.

"Call me Betty," she said as Lindsey pushed the button on the wheelchair lift. He smiled at Betty, feeling pretty good thinking about how Orlando didn't try anything after all. He found himself thinking it just might be a good day right up until the moment when Betty said she'd like to go to a Karaoke bar. Lindsey'd rather see Kingdom of Heaven for the 39th time.

"It'll be fun, Lindsey," Orlando said "I'd love to hear you sing."

"I don't sing." Lindsey rasped.

Orlando looked at him a shade too long then, making Lindsey pretty sure he knew. He knew so much after all, about how Lindsey lived and died. It's creepy how much he knew when Lindsey was stuck with nothing more than the few snippets of magazine headlines he'd seen over the years. And really, he'd prefer to focus on the creepiness rather than the expression on Orlando's face. It wasn't genuine hurt, after all. It was just acting. Most likely.

Orlando fiddled with his collar, and his hands were another thing Lindsey wished he wouldn't notice. They seemed to be endlessly fascinating these days. Always doing something, playing with this or pointing at that, except when they weren't. Orlando had two speeds, on and off, and Lindsey was getting used to seeing him either still as a stone or wiggling like popping corn.

Orlando noticed Lindsey watching, and he smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I guess I'll have to sing to you then," he said. Lindsey just barely remembered not to smile back, knowing if he did Orlando would flirt with him again. Lindsey found it difficult lately to remember that Orlando flirted with everyone and anything. That he didn't mean anything by it.

"I hope they have a decent whiskey," Lindsey replied.

Surprisingly, they did have a decent whiskey. Or maybe it had just been so long that Lindsey didn't really know the difference anymore. In any case, it was a good thing, because it helped to block out the sound of Orlando screeching "Mickey" in a fake girly voice. How was it possible that someone with such a great speaking voice had such a dreadful singing one? Lindsey couldn't even understand what Orlando was saying half of the time. It certainly didn't sound like Mickey, it sounded more like he was saying

"Oh, that's sweet," Betty crooned, patting Lindsey's hand. "You two seem so adorable together."

Lindsey downed the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and held his glass up at a passing waiter. "Another whiskey?"

"No," Lindsey said, unsuccessfully trying to block out the noise on stage. "Beers."

"Anyway you want to do it, I'll take it like a man," Orlando sang.

"And keep them coming," he called. He pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Betty. "Do me a favor and have Orlando drive us home, okay?"

There was an ache in his chest, and he sternly reminded himself that Orlando was not here by choice. He was cursed.

* * *

Some days he looked at the list and thought they were all named Jennifer, or maybe it was just the same Jennifer over and over. Maybe today was yesterday, and he didn't know it. Lindsey worried about that sometimes, visions of oven lights dancing in his eyes, especially at three a.m.

The last time it hit him he must have made some noise, because he woke the dead. He woke Orlando, anyway, who slept like the dead.

Lindsey nearly screamed when the hand touched him and a body slipped between the sheets next to his. Lindsey was careful to insist that they kept to two beds. He wasn't sleeping with Orlando, no matter how much sex they had.

He calmed down immediately when he recognized Orlando's voice, but he still pulled away. He was fine, _fine;_ this isn't some sissy British boarding school, get the fuck back to your own bed, Bloom.

Orlando went; Lindsey knew he should say something, but he didn't intend to say what he did. "Who are you?"

"Is this an existential question, Linds?" That damn voice of his. There was a guitar chord that vibrated when Lindsey strummed it in the exact right way to  well, Orlando's voice must have had a similar pitch.

"You're not Orlando Bloom." They were fucking with his head again.

"I'm not?"

"I saw on E! he's going to Chicago this weekend for some movie premiere." He wanted to be wrong.

"And?"

"We're in Bismarck, 732 miles away." Please  shit, he'd run out of deities he was on speaking terms with  let him be real. Let him not be part of some elaborate scheme to punish Lindsey.

"That reminds me," Orlando said, and Lindsey couldn't hear anything off about his tone. "I'm taking a long weekend." The light through the window wasn't much. People always looked evil in the dark. Lindsey flipped over so he was looking at the wall. "I'll be back next week, Linds." Angel was a good liar, too.

The next morning Orlando was gone, and the car had changed again. Now it was a 1992 Ford Taurus, the same car Lindsey had had in law school. That was probably not a coincidence, but the reasoning eluded him.

The car knew Orlando was gone. All his junk  nail clippers, the sunscreen, even the fucking Ray-Bans  it was all gone from the glove box, despite having survived three previous vehicle changes. If he hadn't said anything ... if he hadn't noticed, maybe nothing would have ... shit, he wasn't going to do this. Orlando would be back next week.

The list bugged him the most. It looked the same as always, a Coke ring on page two from when Orlando used it as a coaster, a torn-off end on page three where Lindsey wrote directions from a gas station in Chehalis, Washington. But there, on page five, next to the next few names on the list were the words "McDonald alone" in parentheses. That didn't used to be there. Lindsey was positive about that. He'd looked at the list a hundred times in the last few months.

Lindsey had been driving for 12 hours; he should probably stop for the night. But all motel rooms looked the same, and the next name on the list was a Jennifer.

And Orlando wouldn't be there. (McDonald alone.)

It really was going to be a long weekend.

* * *

Lindsey had never been so glad to see a limousine in all his life. There was even a chauffeur's uniform on the front seat. He wasn't going to wear it, of course, but it still felt good to see it. Well, maybe he'd wear the hat.

"Oy, Linds," Orlando called as he walked out of the airport and Lindsey shivered. He couldn't stop Orlando from calling him Linds, and he couldn't stop his body from reacting. He wished he knew more curse words in languages pronounceable by human vocal cords. The English ones didn't seem to faze Orlando.

He looked at Orlando, standing there smiling, trailing a suitcase, and Lindsey was very much sure he didn't want to cuss anyway. Then he noticed what else Orlando was trailing.

"Is that  is that a guitar?"

"I believe it's traditional to bring back presents after a trip."

Orlando studied his hands nonchalantly as Lindsey gulped. "Get in the car, now," he managed to say.

The motel room was small, and there was a bed right there. Two, in fact. Somehow it still surprised Lindsey when he found himself falling backward onto one. They were down to their underwear before they even hit it. Kissing, open-mouthed, sloppy, everywhere. "So sweet," Orlando murmured. "You taste so good, love." Stupid, idiotic endearments that made Lindsey desperate as they peppered kisses against each other, tongues flicking against necks and jaws, hips twisting and writhing, rubbing. "I want you so badly," Orlando gasped. Lindsey couldn't stop tasting Orlando, wanting to push at him and to feel him pushing back, wanting to crawl inside him. Orlando shuddered once as if fighting himself and pulled away. Lindsey clutched greedily at him, pulling their hips together hard enough to bruise.

"Condom," Orlando explained. Lindsey could only shake his head wordlessly. Damn, he didn't want to stop long enough to think. If he had to get dressed, find a store ... but Orlando was already sliding off of the bed. "My suitcase," he muttered.

Lindsey closed his eyes gratefully as he waited. The air felt cold against his skin and he caressed himself as he pulled off his underwear, trying to warm up. Orlando was back again moments later, hands fumbling over the unopened box. Lindsey snatched it from him and ripped it, condoms spilling out over the bed and onto the floor. He dropped the mangled box and lay back down staring at the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets, as he waited. He heard the snick as Orlando opened a condom. "Who, er, which?"

"For fuck's sake," Lindsey said. "Just put it on." He didn't want to think anymore.

Lindsey didn't say anything, just lost himself in the feel of the bed wobbling beneath him as Orlando shifted himself between Lindsey's open legs. He tested him with a couple of slick fingers, stretching and opening while raining down kisses on his belly and along his hips. Lindsey kept his eyes closed tight, breathing hard, and listened to the wind and rain rattling the metal balcony outside the motel door. Lindsey let the warm ache spread, he was hard and ready, and he didn't want to wait any longer, biting his lip to keep from begging. Moving restlessly, rocking himself on Orlando's fingers. "I can't wait to be inside you," Orlando said. "I'm going to make you come so hard, you'll never forget it."

Lindsey bit through his lip, tasted blood. Hell. He just wanted to fuck and go to sleep. Screw pride. "Hurry up, man," Lindsey tried to order, though it came out more like a plea.

"Don't want to hurt you," Orlando said.

"Do it," Lindsey replied, reaching down to pull Orlando's fingers out.

Orlando's eyes were dark charcoal now as he positioned himself. "I'm going to make it good," he promised.

His cock was on him, then in him, going slowly as it filled him, stretching him. It hurt a little, but it mostly didn't as Lindsey watched Orlando's arms tremble through half-lidded eyes. "Damn, you feel good, Lindsey. Better than I  oh, fuck, you feel good, yeah."

Lindsey had to agree, nothing, _nothing_ had ever felt as perfect as skin sliding against him from inside. Orlando was hard and hot, a furnace, and Lindsey was so warm and God, he wanted to move his hips _now._

Orlando started to move slowly, shifting and testing, his own face caught in ecstasy as he studied Lindsey, watching him. Lindsey couldn't bear to look back, to see that naked desire, and he screwed his eyes shut to avoid it. Orlando didn't seem to mind, just bent his head closer to Lindsey to place kisses on his face, his eyebrows, his nose. "Better than I remembered," he praised again, and Lindsey twitched as Orlando shifted, his cock stroking his prostate, and a pure bolt of pleasure ripped through his body.

"Fuck, yes," Lindsey panted, arching, angling, seeking that bolt again, and Orlando was more than happy to oblige, riding Lindsey hard, faster. Hitting that spot again and again.

"Stroke yourself," he ordered. "Come for me, Lindsey." Lindsey groped for his own cock, twitching and needy, swirling his thumb along the dripping tip, before wrapping his hand around himself and jerking in rhythm to the in and out of Orlando's hips. "That's it, want to feel you come for me." Lindsey couldn't take it anymore, shaking and panting and gasping, and he came all over his hand, with Orlando riding inside him. He felt his body convulse around Orlando, and then Orlando was coming too, burying his face in Lindsey's neck, moaning his name.

Orlando got up long enough to take the condom off and wash his hands, then he collapsed alongside Lindsey, murmured "I love you," and fell asleep.

Lindsey stared into the dark for a long time, a little sore, heart pounding. Orlando was lying against him, half on him, a little mini-furnace, making Lindsey too hot. He roughly pushed Orlando off of him. Despite himself, Lindsey paused to reposition Orlando comfortably when he didn't waken. They hadn't thought to close the curtains. The parking lot lights poured in, throwing harsh illumination everywhere. The glint of the spilled condoms, the bedspread knocked to the floor, the clothes dropped and kicked and tossed everywhere.

He didn't remember opening the guitar case, but it too gleamed in the light, all wooden and fat.

Lindsey scrambled up and out, throwing his clothes on, zipping up his suitcase, going only as slow as he needed to to keep from making noise. He shut the door behind him whisper quiet as he left, leaving Orlando snoring by himself in the bedroom, the guitar sitting on the floor.

* * *

Lindsey stepped out onto the highway and started walking.

He didn't really have a plan; he wasn't meaning to hitchhike, but when the truck pulled up just ahead of him and stopped, it seemed like a good idea. Trucks were faster than feet, and he could go as far as the truck would take him. Maybe he'd have a better idea than turning around by then. So, he stepped up to the cab with a grin that slowly died when he noticed that the guy driving the truck was pink. Not the kind of pink from blushing, but a vivid true pink, like a rosebud or Pepto Bismol. Humans, Lindsey was pretty sure, didn't come in that shade.

"Get in," the driver said in a voice that was low, gravelly and accented. Well, yeah, of course. He clearly wasn't from around here.

Like hell, Lindsey thought, clutching his suitcase. What were they going to do? Kill him?

He was still clutching the suitcase long after he'd been wrestled into acquiescence with a broken arm.

Lindsey passed out from the pain and when he woke the world was gray. Gray everywhere he looked. Not gray like one got on Earth when the sky wasn't light enough to show color. Just gray, like that was the only color in the world: endless shades of gray like a black and white photograph.

It wouldn't've been so bad if the landscape itself weren't so barren. There were no trees, grass or animals for as far as Lindsey could see, though the ground itself dipped and bobbed. It was not dirt under his feet: This was one case where the gray made things easier to recognize. Lindsey found himself walking on lava, eddied and cool. It was a funny surface, both smooth and rippled in a way the ground shouldn't be, and Lindsey didn't know what to make of it, nor of the fact that his suitcase was gone, and he wasn't wearing the clothes he last put on. He wasn't naked either. He was in a gray pinstriped suit, the weird flat gray of the world he found himself in. Not the colored gray of back home. His arm was healed. He found himself staring at his arms, blotchy and reassuring, the only splashes of color in this place.

It was quiet here, too still. As if there was nothing to make sound for not just miles, but thousands of miles. Lindsey was used to a certain amount of atmospheric noise wherever he was, but here there was nothing but the crunch of his feet on the igneous rock below him. He coughed a little just to prove he could, that his ears were still working. It sounded good, and he did it again. Then he hummed to himself.

He wasn't sure why he bothered to walk. He'd probably get as much of a benefit if he just stood around and yelled. Or laid on his back and watched no clouds go by in the sky. They wouldn't do anything until they were ready, and they'd never been ready before Lindsey went stark raving mad. He might as well walk, then. Walk and pretend that there was a point to thinking about Orlando. Thinking about what exactly Lindsey wanted to do about that.

There wasn't really. Lindsey was pretty sure there'd be no point to saying that he wasn't trying to break the contract by running out. Hadn't even been thinking about the contract, in fact. All Lindsey could really hope for was to find a way to make them mad enough to destroy him completely, not just kill him.

It occurred to him then that maybe he was already dead. "This is your afterlife, Lindsey McDonald," he muttered to himself. If so, then it wasn't nearly as bad as he was expecting. He could use a few millennia of peace and quiet after the life and death and life he'd had.

His mouth twisted as he realized he was indulging in black humor. Gray humor, some other part of his brain corrected with a snicker.

He really needed to get somewhere else.

Eventually, he did. There was no warning, no visitor, just a shimmer and Lindsey was in a court room on trial for ... something. He sat in his chair and doodled on a pad, ignoring the lack of defense his lawyer was putting up.

There was a loud rumbling in the hallway and several loud shouts. A few "people" looked around, but almost everyone ignored the disturbance until the courtroom doors blew back. "This is over," Orlando said, framed in the center. He was covered in ... muck, of some sort, that Lindsey was very much afraid was blood, and in his hands he clutched an old-fashioned ring of jailer's keys. Orlando's eyes darted wildly around the courtroom before landing on Lindsey. When they did, he immediately strode over, and began unlocking his shackles.

There was a short, possibly-female lawyer squeaking at the judge and waving explanatory papers, but Lindsey paid her no mind. Orlando was kissing his hair and his earlobes and the nape of Lindsey's neck, and Lindsey was letting him. "I'm getting you out of here," Orlando said.

"Okay," Lindsey said. He didn't know whether it was because of something the squeaky lawyer said, or merely the look on Orlando's face, but as they walked out, no one tried to stop them.

* * *

Lindsey was afraid to close his eyes. Afraid he'd wake up and be back in that place of endless gray. His brain was stuttering with questions: why, how, _why._ But the one he asked when he came out of the shower to find Orlando slumped in a chair was "Where are we?"

"Motel," Orlando said.

Lindsey ran a towel over his head, getting the excess water out. "No, I mean ..." he waved a hand.

Orlando rubbed the back of his neck. "Carson City."

Aqua-colored slimy muck covered Orlando. "I saved you some towels," Lindsey said.

"Okay, yeah," Orlando said, stumbling a little as he rose.

Lindsey dressed as fast as possible, and then moved around the room, turning on the overhead light and all the lamps. When Orlando stepped out of the shower, he blinked at the brightness of the room, then he cocked his head at Lindsey. "Are you going to sleep in your clothes?"

"I'm not tired," Lindsey said through a yawn. He searched for the remote. "I'll keep it low." Orlando moved toward him and Lindsey froze. "I don't ... I don't want to ..."

"Bugger off," Orlando said, reaching next to Lindsey for the towel he abandoned on the bed. He carried it back into the bathroom, as Lindsey realized he was just cleaning up.

The only people Lindsey'd known who didn't try to take advantage of him in one way or another were the ones he took advantage of first. "You want me," Lindsey said. He didn't quite get why, but that part was unmistakable, and he understood quid pro quo.

"No," Orlando said sharply. Too sharply. "I've been looking for you for three weeks," he said. "Just shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone."

Lindsey looked away. "Where's the list? What time is our next appointment?"

"I left it in the car."

"I'll go "

"Goddamnit. Fine," Orlando flounced over to his suitcase and put on some warm clothes. Out the door and back in less than five minutes, he stayed just long enough to announce, "Jessica McKinney, six p.m., Reno." Plucking a pillow off the bed, he said, "I'll sleep in the car, maybe you'll rest then."

"No," Lindsey said, as Orlando's hand touched the knob. "I don't want to chase you out."

"Shut the fuck up then, yeah?" Lindsey sat down on his bed and turned the television on. Orlando put the pillow back.

* * *

Reno was a beautiful city at night when lit up, but it was ugly during the day, all barren landscape and harsh sunshine. They passed a theater on the way into town and Lindsey just managed not to curse when he saw that Elizabethtown was playing. They were at ten viewings and counting.

Orlando was unnaturally quiet that morning, and Lindsey knew he didn't sleep well. He didn't know what to do about it, though. He'd never had to deal with an Orlando who snapped and sneered every time he opened his mouth. Hell, if anything Orlando'd always been the one trying to make him smile. Lindsey used to think that was creepy as hell, but damn, he was an idiot.

The client couldn't quite decide between Cirque de Soleil's adult show or getting a pizza and renting Much Ado about Nothing. "I love Shakespeare," Orlando said. "'First, kill all the lawyers.'"

"Hey!"

Orlando didn't even look at him.

Lindsey didn't know what he wanted. He wasn't used to people sulking, of all things. In Lindsey's experience, if you pissed someone off, they sacrificed you to their god. This brooding thing was was was ... really sexy.

Shit.

Lindsey didn't even see the car as he stepped out into the parking lot.

"Bugger," Orlando yelled, yanking Lindsey back hard. They were both breathing heavily, hearts racing, and Orlando's eyes were wild with fear.

Lindsey didn't know what to say, just stood there. Thinking hard. Orlando had saved his life again, but Lindsey was quite sure he didn't want gratitude.

He didn't say anything until much later when they were in the room for the night. "That's how Eve died."

"What?"

"Eve. My last girlfriend. She  the building was collapsing, and she ran outside and some guy talking on a cell phone smacked into her because she didn't know enough to look both ways before crossing the street." He started to laugh hysterically. "There's a fucking dragon flying over the city, and hell's army is on the march and she gets hit by a _car."_

"Lindsey," Orlando began.

"A. Car." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I wasn't there to look after her, because I was too busy trying to be a fucking hero. Thought I was goddamn knight! And now look at me." He shivered. "Why aren't I dead?"

He waited for Orlando to say something nice. He was disappointed.

"Screw that," Orlando said instead. "Poor Lindsey," Orlando said. "Can't be the knight-in-shining-armor, can't be the damsel in distress, can't even be the bloody wicked witch." He swore violently, shoving Lindsey backwards. Lindsey grinned as his head conked the wall behind him hard. Pushing forward, he gripped Orlando's arms and swept his legs out from under him, sending Orlando crashing to the floor. Lindsey fell on top of him pinning him and Orlando pushed weakly at him, but Lindsey had held his own against vampires and demons. Orlando might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. Lindsey was smiling triumphantly, his eyes burning. Orlando gulped. "Damn it, Lindsey," Orlando said again. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Lindsey stopped smiling. And then Lindsey bent down and kissed him.

Orlando surged upward into the mouth on his. Yes, Lindsey thought Orlando was saying with his mouth, yes, yes, oh, yes, finally, you great bloody fool, yes. Orlando pushed his tongue against Lindsey's tongue and teeth. Nothing had ever tasted this good, and he couldn't get enough. More, he wanted, needed, more. Now. Lindsey began to shake and Orlando wrapped his arms around Lindsey, clutching him tightly. He'd waited too long to be patient and ground down against Orlando, ground down hard and pushed against that delicious demanding tongue until he couldn't breathe. Lindsey tore his mouth away gasping and Orlando reached for his head to draw him back. "Breathe through your nose," he ordered.

But then he snatched his hand away, horrified as he felt the wetness. "Shit, you're bleeding." He tried to scramble to his feet, but Lindsey still wouldn't let him up.

"Fuck, Lindsey, I probably gave you a concussion." Lindsey was nipping at Orlando's neck now, leaving tiny hickeys for tomorrow.

"Probably," Lindsey agreed. "I guess you'll have to keep me awake for the next twenty-four hours."

"Hell, yes," Orlando groaned. He attempted a glare. "But then you are definitely going to hospital."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Lindsey bent down again, but Orlando shook his head no, like a goddamn tease. Like all of them, Darla and Angel and all of them who'd promised him things with their eyes and their lips and their lying, lying tongues. "We can't," Orlando said. "You really need a doctor."

Lindsey didn't care, didn't care. He wanted to come, needed to come, was going to die if he didn't and he pushed away from Orlando to fumble at his own belt buckle, and oh, God, he was hard and his cock was straining, leaping and Orlando hadn't even touched him. Hadn't even fucking touched him, just kissed him, and oh, God, Lindsey looked into those eyes, those soft brown eyes and he was drowning, drowning and he couldn't move his hand fast enough, jerking himself hard. And he was so ready, so ready, and three more fast jerks and he was over.

Lindsey came harder than he ever had before, pinned by Orlando's smoldering gaze. "You must have been one hell of a teenager," Lindsey gasped, thinking of make out sessions long past as he flopped to the floor with a sticky palm and his cock hanging out of his pants. Orlando started to rise. "Don't go anywhere," Lindsey said.

* * *

Coming to the end of the list was a surprise. Lindsey could do whatever he wanted now.

So could Orlando.

Lindsey played with the steering wheel the whole way back to the motel. If Orlando wanted to leave, Lindsey couldn't stop him. Had no way to. Nothing to offer. Orlando probably should go back to the world. Make babies with some supporting actress nominee. Get married and divorced a couple three times. Come out on Oprah. Do insane amounts of cocaine and court-ordered rehab.

Well. Maybe not that last.

When Lindsey asked what was going to happen tomorrow, Orlando just looked at him with tired eyes. "What do you want to happen, Linds?" He couldn't say it. The last time he tried to be a part of something, he died. Orlando shook his head. "I just can't do this anymore, Linds, I'm sorry."

Sorry. Everyone's always sorry once they've cut your hand off, or punctured your neck, or shot you. They always say they're sorry, just before they take it back and tell you it's all your fault. Because you deserved it anyway.

"Please," Lindsey said.

But Orlando just looked at him with puzzled eyes. "Why do you care?"

And maybe it wasn't the same for Orlando.

But maybe it was. And Lindsey tried one last time, and Orlando struggled out of the armchair and said he was going down to the beach.

And Lindsey was left alone again. To try and figure out what he did wrong, and how to avoid being punished.

* * *

"I realized something," Lindsey said, crouching down next to Orlando.

"What's that?" Orlando said dully, staring out at the crashing waves.

"I died." Orlando put down the surfboard. Lindsey's voice was soft and husky against the steady pitter patter of the rain. "If I make it through the day alive and with all my limbs intact it'll be a pretty good week."

Orlando picked up the surfboard again. "Yeah? Maybe I wanted something a little more than 'it could be worse.'"

Want_ed._ Lindsey sucked in a sharp breath as his stomach contracted tightly. "Wait. Please." Damn. Once more into the blah, blah, blah, he thought. He scrambled to his feet, plucking at Orlando's elbow. "Okay, okay," he said, cursing inwardly at whatever fates had made Orlando an actor. His face was carefully neutral, and Lindsey didn't know if he was mad or hurt or genuinely indifferent now. "I like you," he said.

Orlando rolled his eyes. "Are you _twelve?"_

Lindsey huffed impatiently. "I meant that I like _you._ Who you are. As a person."

"Who am I?" Orlando asked. There was something in his voice, something that wasn't acting, something curious and sad and unsure.

A million images flashed through Lindsey's mind. Orlando in vampire teeth. Orlando smiling, wet in the moonlight. Orlando gasping and bloody, clutching a ring of keys in his hand. All of those things that in retrospect felt like love to Lindsey, sounded kind of shallow when said out loud: You're pretty and you saved me. Lindsey could feel it was more than that, but he had to make Orlando feel it too. He'd never been able to convince anyone of anything for longer than the time it took to sign a contract.

Lindsey took a deep breath, praying that he was going to get this right. "You're the guy who doesn't worship me," he said finally. Orlando snorted. "If I'm rude, you'll snipe back at me. But you're also not going to try to kill me if I piss you off, or turn into some evil doppelganger pretending to be Orlando Bloom just to screw"

"Come on, you didn't think that" Orlando broke off at the expression on Lindsey's face. "You thought that!"

Lindsey rolled his eyes. "Also, yeah, you're also a world-famous actor who makes a lot more money than I do, even when I have a job. And I'll probably have to live with people throwing themselves at you." He couldn't help it; his hands strayed to Orlando's face, stroking the hair back, caressing a cheek. "But at the end of the day," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper, low and intimate. "They just get some guy on a screen. I get you." He smiled. "You look good naked, too." Lindsey stared off into the horizon, seeing Orlando naked in his mind's eye. "Mmm, yeah. Really good." He shook his head a bit to clear it and looked back at Orlando. "Um. I think that's about it."

"That's it," Orlando repeated.

"Yeah," Lindsey said with a forced mildness. He wanted  he gulped, and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from clutching Orlando to him. He wasn't going to push. He _wasn't._

Orlando's expression was shadowed, haunted. "Linds, I need to be honest with you about something."

Lindsey nodded, trying not to shiver as a cold wave swept through his body.

"The thing is," Orlando said seriously. "You suck at speeches."

Lindsey stared at him. One beat. Two. The words sank in. "You bastard."

Orlando smirked. "Terrible at it. Really."

"You fucking bastard."

"Worst. Declaration. Ever."

"Shut up," Lindsey said. "Just ... shut up." He stepped forward, falling into Orlando. "Oh, God. I thought "

"Oy," Orlando said. "You were worried." Lindsey nodded tightly, his face buried in Orlando's hair.

"Tell me we're okay," he demanded. He was shaking now, shaking and cold and wet.

"We're okay," Orlando said, stroking Lindsey's back, his head, everywhere he could reach.

Lindsey groped for the zipper on Orlando's wetsuit, tugging it down, pushing his hand inside.

Orlando gasped into Lindsey's mouth as skin met skin and pulled away to look at him with burning eyes. "Er. I don't suppose this is a nude beach?"

"Shit," Lindsey said. "Car." He snatched up Orlando's hand and began running, dragging him along.

"My board!"

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You don't even have a job."

"I have a rich boyfriend."

"Hah," Orlando said. "I see how it is. You just want a sugar daddy."

"Of course not," Lindsey said. "I'm also using you for sex."

Orlando swallowed hard and ran faster. They bolted into the car, dripping all over the seats, and Lindsey didn't say one word about the upholstery. Orlando looked around. It was early morning yet, and Lindsey had parked off the road in a place with some good foliage cover.

"Right, yes." Orlando murmured, peeling the wet suit off. He peeked over at Lindsey. "Condom?" he asked hopefully.

Lindsey slumped, slamming his fist against the steering wheel. "Only if you've got a secret stash in the glove box." Orlando shook his head mournfully.

Lindsey looked at Orlando. Orlando looked at Lindsey. "Suitcase," they cried in unison. Orlando was already pulling his seatbelt on, and Lindsey slammed the car into drive.

Orlando wiggled in the passenger seat next to Lindsey, fondling his crotch. "Stop that," Lindsey ordered. "You don't get to do that while I'm driving. It's not fair."

"It's not _fair,_" Orlando mocked. "You're the one who always insists on driving. There has to be some perks to being a passenger."

"Giving yourself hand jobs isn't one of them."

"I think," Orlando moaned, rocking himself a little faster now against his hand. "It is."

"Don't make me pull over," Lindsey threatened.

"Yeah, yeah," Orlando said. "Keep talking. Just like that." His head was tilted back, and his eyes were closed.

Lindsey could feel his own eyes bugging out. He opened his mouth to yell at Orlando some more, and then snapped it shut recognizing the futility. "Please," he said simply. "I want to be the one to make you come."

Orlando froze and opened his eyes, staring at Lindsey. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Orlando sighed and moved his hand, tilting himself to lean his head against Lindsey's shoulder. "You're going to hurry, right?"

"Damn straight," Lindsey said, and stomped his foot down onto the gas.

* * *

Orlando sighed deeply, shifting to rest his head on Lindsey's chest. "Would you still love me even if I was raising an army of darkness?" Orlando asked. "Because some of my fans ..."

Lindsey got a laugh past the sudden lump in his throat. He stroked an idle hand along Orlando's neck, massaging gently. "Are you still going to have time for the mind-blowing sex?"

"Definitely," Orlando said, lifting his head just enough to place a lazy kiss on Lindsey's chest.

"In that case, I'll try to overlook it."

"You're too kind," Orlando yawned.

Lindsey reached over and switched off the bedside lamp. "I do love you, you know," he said faux-casually.

"I know," Orlando murmured, already half-asleep. Lindsey felt another kiss against his chest. "Me too."

Lindsey sucked in a breath, and squeezed Orlando's shoulder gratefully. Orlando shifted suddenly, raising his head. Lindsey's eyes hadn't adjusted enough to see him, but he guessed Orlando was peering at him in the dark. "You knew that."

"Maybe," Lindsey said. He supposed he should have.

"So when I rubbed that lamp ... it wasn't a curse."

"I don't  huh?"

"I got what I wished for."

"So some cracked out demon that got himself trapped in a piece of crockery enchanted you to fall in love with me?"

Orlando sighed. "Bugger it. Let's just fuck for the next couple of years and talk about it again then."

"Oh. ... Okay."

Orlando snorted as he lay his head back down, this time on the pillow, though he stayed cuddled up next to Lindsey. "Okay," he mumbled. "As if it were up to you."

Lindsey waited until he was sure Orlando was almost asleep before saying into the still night air, "So does this mean I get to meet Johnny Depp?"

"You're more than welcome to meet any of the married pretty people I know."

"But not the single ones?"

"Only if they're eunuchs."

"Lando," he murmured, with a gentle kiss.

There was a soft chuckle. "Orli."

"Hmm?"

"Fucking Star Wars. It's Orli, Linds."

Lindsey grinned into the dark. The hell it was. Linds, indeed. "Lando," he repeated firmly, and closed his eyes.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for explicit sex and implied violence.


End file.
